Meet Mary Sue
by chrystopher draco
Summary: Amanda meets the competition. Fluff.


TITLE: Meet Mary Sue

AUTHOR: Chrystopher Dragon Summer 2005

RATING: G.

SUMMARY: Amanda meets the competition.

DISCLAIMER: "Scarecrow and Mrs. King" belong to Shoot the Moon and Warner Brothers. None of the characters are mine. I don't think I broke anything while I played with them, and I tried to put them back where I found them. This story is for entertainment only and not for profit. No infringement of rights is intended.

WARNING: Giggle alert.

NOTES: This story is unbeta'd, but it's short! It was written to show what a "Mary Sue" or original fanfiction character can sometimes do when she gets out of hand in your story. I remember reading that you could tell a Mary Sue because, besides being gorgeous and accomplished, she was inevitably red-haired, green-eyed, and could sing.

GENRE: Fluff.

TIMELINE: Anytime after season 2.

FEEDBACK: Email to smkfanfic list. Email to me. No Flames, please: I have enough tension already on in my life. This is REALLY just for fun.

ARCHIVE: Listmom may archive this in the SMKfanfic archives. Others please ask.

**Meet Mary Sue**

Chrystopher Dragon

Lee shook his head over the Prince's limp body. His eyes met Amanda's, full of all the things he would never be able to tell her, now. The hostages resigned themselves to pain, torture, and --for Amanda and Francine-- a fate worse than death at the hands of the sixteen top international terrorists who now moved menacingly toward them.

Suddenly a black-suited but --even in that dim light-- unmistakably svelte female figure dropped through the single air duct opening in the ceiling and landed in a crouch. Emptying the 7-clip Walther PPK with one hand and the double-arrow crossbow with the other, she took out half of their captors and the panther before she finished standing up. Then, spinning and swirling, the newcomer felled the remaining terrorists with perfectly timed kicks and jabs. Before the hostages could react, she dropped to her knees by the Prince and pulled off the ski mask. Red hair tumbled out, but she shook it back over her shapely shoulders as she whipped a hypo from a concealed pocket and expertly injected the Sheik, the Prince, and the President one after the other in their upper arms. Her green eyes glinted as the infected statesmen stirred in response to her antidote and the male contingent of the Agency task force stirred in response to her tangible assets, partially revealed by her half-zipped skintight body suit. She reassured the President by repeating in French the message entrusted her by the UN Security Council, brought a smile to the face of the Sheik as she quoted a 16th century love Persian poem, and responded to the Prince's forceful expletive with a few well-chosen gutter-Swahili phrases of her own.

She turned to the Agency team. "Hi, guys. Sorry I'm late. Took a while longer than expected to formulate an antidote for a silicon-based archaeobacteria -- hadn't seen one before my USGS research project found them after St. Helen's blew. Didn't realize that the Rumanians were already trying out their biological warfare possibilities until we infiltrated the Embassy in Sofia last night and found the lab reports. Hungry?"

They nodded dumbly. "Here," she said, slinging down a hand-crocheted mesh bag and handing out the hearty 6-grain bread she'd baked that morning, along with several carefully selected Goudas, English Stiltons, and a rare aged Welsh Cheddar. She pulled the cork on an '86 Chateau-neuf-de-Pape and started pouring. "It's not as good as the '85, but I didn't have time to raid Uncle Charles's cellars," she apologized to Lee.

An explosion rocked the room. "Ah," she said. "That's the new gelignite. Probably more that we needed to blow the doors. I had to do the field vector integration calculus in my head -- no room for even a slide rule in this getup," she explained. "Ready to go? We need to get out of here before the fire raises the temperature above 4300.01Kelvin and melts the corbomite keeping the seawall from collapsing. My helicopter's on autopilot and waiting on the roof. Bring the President." Ignoring the remains of her impromptu picnic, she picked up the Prince on one arm and supported the Sheik with the other and strode out the door.

Lee dropped Amanda unceremoniously on the floor and, along with Fred, Ephraim, and Leatherneck, eagerly followed the 19-year-old CIA agent, who was now singing an aria from one of Lloyd Webber's operas as she ran lightly up the ramp. The men were struggling to keep up and not mess up their parts in the bass and tenor chorus.

"Who the hell was that?" Amanda asked, staggering to her feet.

"Dr. Mary Sue Perfect to us," Francine replied bitterly. "Don't slip on the drool."


End file.
